I Wish I Was Beautiful
by DrunkOnJerichohol
Summary: To him, I'm a droplet of water; to me, he's the entire ocean. To him, I'm a sliver of light; to me, he's as brilliant as all the rays of the beaming sun. I'm only one person in the world to him but, to me, he's the entire world. This is my struggle to make him see me for what I am. (written in first-person POV)
1. Nothing a Fancy Dress Can't Fix

******Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any and all original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**A/N: **This is written in the first person from Stephanie's perspective.

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The fabric of my zebra-print dress flutters in the light breeze and the corners of my mouth tug upward into a smirk as I smooth the animalistic material down. _Be modest_, my mother always directed me, but times have changed since she was actively navigating the dating scene, and you have to go all out to be noticed these days. The new millennium brought the winds of change along with it years ago, and I'm only trying to keep up with the trends. The steady draft outdoors blows tufts of air up my dress and urges me to run for cover - - inside a local bar in Tampa. It's not just any bar, rather, it's the one Chris is hanging out inside for Superbowl Sunday, and I _will_ command his attention.

See, Chris has this thing I noticed, and it appears subtle at first, until you really get to know him. I would venture a guess to say most people, not so much casual fans of Chris's as the rabid ones, have all concluded he's got a type. Those vacuous, blonde, airhead lookalikes always seem to win him over, for reasons that will remain a mystery to me until the day I die. It's as if a group of crafty, horny guys developed their very own bimbo-making factory and manufactured these chicks from the same basic mold - - blonde hair, blue eyes, gallons of makeup, breasts that could pass for the inflatable devices used on cruise ships in case of an emergency.

I have nothing against the intelligent blondes of the world, mind you, but those other bitches _must_ be stopped. You know which ones I'm referring to. I have no grudges against the ones who value education and use means other than sex to get what they want out of life. I'm directing my words at the ones who choose to act dumb as a box of rocks, not because they really _are_ but because they think it's cute, and who also go out of their way to dress as slutty as possible and latch onto the first man they see so they can go home with him and commit unspeakable acts that could possibly give them a disease.

That being said, I know you're probably scratching your heads and thinking, '_didn't this chick just tell us she's walking around in a zebra-print dress, of all things?_'. My answer to you would be yes - - but it's adorable when I do it. I'm simply a woman in lust, not yet completely in love, and I want Chris to see all the good in me. I'm sick of being his gal pal and nothing more. I'm not one to assume things about myself, but I've been told I'm pretty numerous times in my life, and I think I am when I put enough effort into my appearance.

I visited a salon today and doled out good money to have my hair curled to perfection, my nails crafted into the masterpiece known as French tips, and I even tortured myself into allowing someone to do my makeup. I despise having that gunk all over my face, clogging my pores and setting me up for a series of inevitable disaster breakouts, but everything I do is for one reason. It's him, always _him_ - - Chris Irvine. So imagine my surprise when I waltz up to the door, give my hair a final toss before hooking the door handle, and pull it open to find some common slut, who just so happens to be a blonde, sitting in his lap while he beams down at her.

Yep, he's got a type, all right.

Now, those who frequent bars, or have ever entered one before, know how it always works. The inside is basked in pure darkness and devoid of any signs of the life taking place just beyond its doors. It's for that reason that the second anyone opens the doors and the momentarily forgotten sunshine goes flooding in, every single person in the place just _has_ to turn and see who's entering. If I were just going in to grab my husband by the ear and tug him out of the place in fury, which it appears a woman at the bar is in the act of, I might not care about other people's sidelong glances, but this time, it annoys me beyond measure.

I'm dressed for Chris _only_. I didn't suffer through a full day at the salon so all these leering jackasses can lick their dirty, beer-stained lips and think foul thoughts about me. I didn't slip this wild dress on so they could form images in their heads of what a tigress I must be in bed and, in fact, I'm almost upchucking in my mouth at the thought of that. But no, I didn't put myself on display for them. I did it for one man only and, unfortunately for me, he's the one who just so happens to have a hussy hanging from his neck and who also can't seem to keep her slimy tongue in her own mouth, by the looks of it.

Plenty of pairs of eyes are on me, but there's only one set of peepers I crave the attention of, and when they lock with mine, I feel a familiar surge that swells in my lower abdomen and shoots straight down to the area between my legs. I'm not a sex addict, not by any means, but this is what he does to me every single time we meet, without fail. He licks his lips as the door swings shut behind me and, instantly, I'm aroused. I feel my desire pooling in my nether region as we continue staring at one another from across the room. I take one step, then two, and I'm well on my way, so I roll with it and slink right up to him.

"Hey, Chris. Like my dress?" I pinch the ends of it, which only go mid-thigh, and wink at him. Just as he's about to respond, words that I'm sure would have swept me right off my nimble feet, the unnamed bimbo just _has _to come up for air, from whatever tongue doodling she was drawing on his neck, and ruin it.

"Hi!" she squeals in a tone far beyond obnoxious, "are you, like, his sister?"

First of all, Chris doesn't have any siblings, so right off the bat, I know she's not familiar with his work. Some might say I'm being presumptuous, but, seriously, how long would it have taken a real fan to Google his name and find out some basic information on his background. She can't possibly be keeping his interest by talking about his career, because she doesn't even seem to realize what he does for a living, so that crosses one possibility from the list. Now it's time to find out if she knows anything about his side occupation.

"Sure, I'm his sister," I answer sarcastically, because it's entertaining to poke fun at people when they have no clue you're doing it. It also qualifies as being a little bitchy too, but, hey, I wouldn't be me if I didn't carry those less-than-complementary traits around with me. I turn to Chris to make conversation, but my words are really a test for the woman in his lap. "I just got finished listening to Sin and Bones, which, by the way, is your best album yet, and it made me miss you, so I came to watch the game with you."

"Album?" Blondie gushes before letting out a dramatic gasp and covering her mouth with her hand, speaking through her fingers as her eyes widen in shock. "Oh my gosh, are you, like, a famous singer, Chris?"

I shake my head and roll my eyes nearly out of my head, and when I glance back at Chris, he's shooting me a warning look. I've been his friend for so long that he knows me well enough to determine when I'm up to no good and only trying to cause trouble. I'm not finished having my fun though, so against what I assume to be Chris's wishes, I continue, "He's one of the most famous vocalists around. Who did you think he was?"

"I just thought, like...I thought he was Chris," Blondie frowns, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Yes, his name _is_ Chris, very good," I nod slowly and mirror her hair-twirling, because if I'm going to be a jerk, I might as well go all the way, right? She turns to Chris and squints at him, really scrutinizing his every feature, and I'm so thankful not to be drinking anything, because I would have spit it all over both of them before hunching over and falling into the knee-slapping type of laughter that you only experience once in a blue moon. I seldom find anything so amusing, but this girl could have her own comedy reel.

"So...you're Chris _and_ a singer?" she questions.

"Imagine that!" I clap my hands. "His name is Chris _and_ he manages to be a singer, all at the same time."

"Heidi, just a minute. I have to talk to Stephanie outside and then I'll be right back with you," Chris tells her. He lifts her bony frame off his lap before replacing her in his seat and picking up his beer bottle for a final swig before placing it back down and patting her leg. "Keep my seat warm, kitten."

"I will," Heidi says before puckering up for a kiss. Chris leans down to give her one, and it's a struggle for me not to gag or lose my lunch from earlier today. Just as I'm inwardly rolling my eyes, I feel his warm hand on my arm as he tugs me towards the door, and I know then that I'm in big trouble. I insulted his fling of the day, and now he's going to give me a talking to instead of digging deeper and asking himself why I'm doing this. If he would mull it over, even just for a second, he would see how much I care and that I've always wanted him.

No other man could ever compare.

I stumble in the dark, finding my way only by his lead, and then the darkness is gone and I'm squinting into the Florida sunshine and feeling the radiant warmth on my skin. I gaze up to find a cluster of birds forming a perfect V-shape as they soar across the sky, and the bustle of traffic in the nearby intersection distracts me until his hand is gone. I instantly miss his touch and my face slouches in defeat as I turn to see why he's not holding onto my arm anymore. Oh, there's my answer - - both of his hands are on his hips while he stands there staring me down, as if he's my father and has just seen the failing grade on my report card.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demands, and I suppose I expect that question, since I wasn't exactly the most polite woman in the world just a few moments ago. I would love to be able to provide an answer that would calm him, but I'm honest to a fault, so I tell him what I'm really thinking.

"Oh, sorry, but I can only take stupid in small doses."

"She's not stupid, and you had no right to talk to her that way. Heidi's a nice girl, and you might not see it, but I do. If you had a boyfriend who I didn't like, I wouldn't be talking to him like he was a piece of shit, because it wouldn't be my place to do that," Chris says. He's huffing now and his cheeks are turning red, and though I'm hesitant to admit it, he has a point. I can't treat his girlfriends, or play toys - - or whatever they are - - badly just because I want him to notice me. All of my focus has to go into me and then the rest will follow.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I was just upset because I asked if you liked my dress, but you never answered," I award him a winning smile as I swivel my hips and hold the bottom of my dress on display for him. His eyes trail from mine down to the dress and end at my feet, which are covered in a pair of four-inch midnight black boots. His face remains impassive, so I can't tell what he's thinking, but I hope it's _va-va-voom_! "So...do you?"

"This isn't about a dress, but, yes, you look really nice." _Oh, that's it?_

"Thanks," I respond blandly. I'm not a woman who likes to show all of my cards at once, but I can't manage to keep the disappointment out of my voice. It's difficult for me to wrap my head around how I can feel so strongly for Chris and put my all into it, but he can't see that, yet, some tramp who doesn't care a lick about him and only sees far enough ahead to want him in her bed for one night can get heaps of his attention. Those girls don't care about him like I do, and they never will. "I'm really sorry for what I said. I meant it, but I shouldn't have said it to her."

"You don't know her, all right?" Chris continues. He might as well stick a spear straight through my pained heart every time he defends her to me. As if it isn't bad enough I had to see her hanging off of him like some sort of contorted Christmas ornament, now I have to hear him sing her praises and talk about what a great companion she is. "She might seem a little ditzy, but she's sweet and good to me."

"I care about you a whole lot more than she does," I shrug, and it becomes a struggle to keep the tears from forming in my eyes. Right about now, I'm wishing I hadn't ever shown up at this stupid bar in the first place. No matter what I try to make Chris see me, it's never enough.

"You don't even know her to make that kind of comment."

"Maybe not, but I know _me_, and I care about you more than she ever will!" I state boldly, and now I'm huffing and red-faced, just like Chris was earlier, as I try to make him understand.

There seems to always be this hurdle between us that I can't seem to jump, and I want it gone. Chris doesn't know what he does to me, and that hurts even worse than the knowledge that he doesn't view me in the romantic sense. If he could at least acknowledge how sweet it is that I make it a point to look nice just to impress him, maybe I would feel a little better about knowing I'll never have him. He'll never be mine, and I don't think I can ever get over that, but I can find some way to manage. I imagine myself spending the rest of my life comparing every man I date to him and wishing we'd had something, but I'm sick of relying on pipe dreams that will never come to fruition.

Chris swipes his hand across the back of his head and kicks at the ground. I can tell he wants to say something, but maybe he's as confused as me and doesn't know how to form the right words. He finds his voice a moment later and doesn't bother looking at me when he speaks, "It isn't a contest to find out who cares more about me, Steph. I know you care, and I feel the same about you, but there's no way to gauge who cares more, and I find it pretty immature to even try."

"Oh, so _I'm_ immature?" I press the tip of my index finger to my chest as I point to myself. I'm flabbergasted he would say something like that to me, and even more shocked he was able to keep a straight face while doing it. Apparently, this Heidi character has more of a hold on him than it first appeared, but if that's what Chris wants, it's entirely his choice. When I think back on my entire day spent in the salon, I feel nauseous at all the time I wasted getting dolled up for someone who will never view me that way.

It hurts - - badly.

"You're acting a little bit immature, yes," he responds with a shrug.

His oceanic blue eyes pierce through mine, and as much as I adore the guy, I want to reach up and slap him right across the face. I want to grab onto his shirt and shake him around until he realizes what he's got standing in front of him. I want to confess how much I cherish him, how much I always have, and tell him I'm not ready to let him go just yet. I can't say goodbye to the prospect of what I've always felt we could have, if only he would allow me to enter his world. That's all I really desire - - to be a part of his universe instead of being cast aside.

"I already said I was sorry, but it doesn't feel like you're even treating me like a friend right now," I admit. I'm not trying to guilt him or anything...all right, maybe just a teensy bit, but I'm mostly trying to make him see how much he's hurting me. "I was trying to look extra nice today for when I came to spend time here with you, but you didn't even notice. You're always only worried about whatever girl you're dating, or whatever it is you do with them."

"I—" he starts, but I cut him off with a flourish of my hand.

"Honestly, I don't even want to know. I'm just telling you how I feel."

"Fine, but what you're not understanding..." he starts, and I've had enough. Superbowl Sunday is finished, over and out.

"I don't want to hear it, Chris," I interrupt. "I came to have fun and show you my new outfit. I thought you might like it or pay even the slightest bit of attention to me since, you know, we're _supposed_ to be friends, but whatever. Go back inside and let Heidi lick all over your neck like the dog she is, see if I care. You'd just better make sure she's seen a vet and gotten her shots."

"Bye, Stephanie. Call me when you're ready to be reasonable," Chris says, and just like that, he turns around and walks back into the bar.

My heart doesn't just hurt - - it _bleeds_.

I feel my stomach turn, and I don't know whether I have to vomit or pass out, but I don't think any single person has possessed the ability to cut me as sharply with their words as Chris does. I do the only thing I know how, which is to walk back to my car in defeat and leave. I don't stay where I'm not wanted, mostly because I have too much pride to do so, and it's clear Chris is fine without me. When I'm settled in the driver seat, I lean over to check the rear view mirror in hopes Chris might be coming back to apologize, but all hope is lost when I find nobody standing there.

For what feels like the millionth time, I've witnessed a carbon copy of all the women Chris dates win him over, and I'm sick to death of seeing it. What great qualities do they possess that I don't? Is it their wit? _Yeah right_. Their charm? _No way_. Then my thoughts from earlier hit me with a force that would have nearly knocked me out of my seat had I not been buckled in. It's all really very simple now that I think about it.

Chris likes blondes, and not just any blondes, but the ones who would be challenged by taking a first grade level quiz and, now, I have my work cut out for me. It isn't anything another visit to the salon can't fix, and when I come out this time, I'll be a whole new woman. I'll embody everything Chris finds attractive in a woman and bring a whole new essence to the term 'blonde bombshell'. If he can't see the beauty in my natural look, I'll develop into the type of woman he can't say no to.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.


	2. The Problem with Human Attraction

I'm officially a bottle blonde.

Most people's gut instinct with regard to that newly acquired fact would be to berate me for lowering myself to changing my outer appearance solely for a guy. My rebuttal would be that it's not just _any_ guy, and I'm only doing it long enough to get him to notice me in the romantic sense. Once he's gone for me, I'll be able to go back to my regular old self and he'll have no choice but to accept me for who I am - - that's the way I _think_ it works, anyway. I strike a pose worthy of Vogue magazine in front of my mirror and shake out my new hair while picturing what the look on Chris's face might be when he first sets sights on my makeover.

For what it's worth, which probably isn't much, I liked myself as a brunette a whole lot better. Brown hair really brings out my spectacular blue eyes and makes them pop, but if this is the length I've gotta go to snag my dream guy, I'll gladly take one for the team. It's Monday afternoon, only a few hours until Raw will air, but I'm not there because I'm a slacker and requested my dad give me the day off, which he readily obliged. I suppose my lack of desire to attend the show was partially because it's halfway across the country and I wouldn't have been able to remain in Florida to spy on Chris if I went. He rarely gets time off from both the WWE _and_ Fozzy, but this is one of those oddities of life I'm taking full advantage of.

I know where he lives, of course, since I've been to his house numerous times to hang out, but this occasion is going to be different because all of his focus will zoom straight in to me while Heidi fades the hell out. I managed to put together a new outfit, and this time I traded in the wild look for the slightly trashy. A sequined red bikini adorns my body underneath a Victoria Secret Pink tank top and a short jean skirt. Since I received a fresh pedicure when I was at the salon having my hair dyed, I chose a pair of cherry red flip flops to set the look off and put my perfected nails on full display. Smiling at myself in the mirror for good luck, I flip the light switch off and grab my car keys off the table in my hotel room - - the room I settled in because Chris was too angry to invite me to stay at his house last night, but never mind that.

It's showtime.

By the time I pull into Chris's driveway and saunter up to his front door, I'm already mentally prepping myself for my opening statement. The blond hair and casual, borderline skanky clothing is a massive change for me and already completely out of character, so if I start speaking like an airhead to boot, it'll probably do more harm than good and only make Chris freak out more than he already might about my rather drastic changes. As I raise my hand and bring it down on the door to knock, I make the instant decision to act like my normal self, because changing my looks _and_ personality in one fell swoop carries the major potential to backfire. I roll my eyes at myself when I realize I'm so nervous I'm actually taking the time to knock instead of just ringing the doorbell, which I do promptly and several times in a row.

Chris opens the door with his toothbrush in his mouth, toothpaste foam settling around the corners, and frowns as he checks me out from top to bottom. It's a little awkward, I must admit, so I say the first thing that comes to mind, because nothing I say is _ever_ cringeworthy - - yes, I mean that with the utmost sarcasm. "Look, I'm a blonde now. Do you like it?"

His eyes widen as he mumbles around his toothbrush, "Come in."

I step inside and am promptly thrilled not to find Heidi sitting on the couch or anywhere else in the immediate area. Chris shuts the front door and holds up a finger to signal to me that he has to finish up in the bathroom, so I nod as he walks off and follow that up with stepping in front of the large, oval mirror in his living room. After dropping my purse on the nearest table, I fluff my hair and can't help but beam at my reflection. I'm radiant, even more than usual, and I know Chris won't be able to resist me when he returns.

Since I don't want him to catch me checking on my appearance when he walks back in, I travel the length of his wooden shelves and busy myself with studying pictures of Chris in various locations. There are some shots of him onstage with Fozzy, and those are the kind of pictures I love to see. There's nothing more irresistible than a self-assured rock star, and I haven't ever witnessed Chris looking more in his element than he does during a concert. Performance is where he shines, and I think he knows that's what he was always meant for. He possesses a commanding stage presence, the likes of which I've never seen anywhere else.

I hear his footsteps from around the corner and my heart skips a beat as I imagine the compliments he must have stored up for me. I can't wait to bask in the kindness of his words, but when I turn around, he's regarding me with a look I can't quite decipher, so I break the silence. "Where's old what's-her-name?"

"Heidi's out fishing with her parents," Chris says as he leans against the wall nearest to him and folds his sculpted arms across his broad chest. "Do you mind telling me what the hell this is?"

"What?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Since when have you ever wanted to be a blonde?"

"Since forever ago. I always wanted to experiment, and I thought this might be my chance," I tell him. I'm obviously lying through my teeth, but he doesn't have to know that. I've gotta keep my cards close to my vest until the proper time comes to reveal my hand. I waltz over, stepping right in front of him, and our eyes connect. "I also wanted to say I'm sorry for yesterday. I was out of line, and I shouldn't have been rude to Heidi. I know you would never do that to any boyfriend of mine if I had one, so I'm really sorry for being mean. You're my best friend, Chris."

A grand smile spreads across his face, and he even chuckles as he leans forward and takes my face in his hands. Chris presses a kiss to my forehead before gazing down at me, "That's all I wanted to hear. You're my best friend too, and I'm sorry if I made you feel bad or wasn't giving you enough attention. For the record, you looked beautiful yesterday, and I really liked the dress."

"You did?" I ask, and now I'm glowing.

"I did," he nods before leading me to the couch and taking a seat. I lower myself in the spot next to him and tap my fingertips against each other. No matter how much I get to know Chris, he still turns me into a complete nervous wreck, with minimal to no effort on his part. I suppose that's just the way it is when you have feelings for someone that extend so deeply beyond a simple friendship.

"So...do you like my hair?"

"I do, but...yeah, I do," he stumbles and looks away. _Oh no, Chris - - you're not getting off that easily. _

My face drops, as I now self-consciously twirl some hair around my finger, the very same act I mocked Heidi for. "You don't like it, do you?"

"No, no, I do," he pats my thigh. "I think it's just going to take some time to get used to, plus, you know, the dark hair really suited you so much better, I think."

"Then why didn't you ever notice me when I had it?" I blurt out, immediately reddening when I realize my slip-up.

The words came tumbling out before I had a chance to hit the brakes, and now Chris knows my true motives. I didn't want him to realize I went to the lengths of dyeing my hair simply to garner his attention because, to be honest, I think he'll probably lose some respect for me. Guys like girls who are confident in themselves, and even though I'm not, I thought I was doing a decent job of projecting that facade up until now. His expression is changing, and the soft light that emanated from his eyes only moments earlier has disappeared and been replaced with some distant emotion I can't quite put my finger on.

As much as it hurts when the thought crosses my mind, I wonder if Chris has ever truly been my best friend at all. Sure, I say the words, he says them back to me, and they sound nice enough, but if I scrutinize the moments we've spent with one another, more often than not, I use my time up walking on eggshells around him. I've always had a crush on Chris and wanted him to reciprocate, but he never really has, and I'm constantly jumping through these gigantic hoops to please him. Chris _has_ been a friend to me, but I don't know that I fully accepted him in that role, because it seems I'm constantly trying to force him to see me in a light he's blind to.

The cold, hard truth of the matter is that Chris doesn't view me in the romantic sense, and nothing I say or do will ever change that.

The thought cuts through my heart like a knife, and suddenly my chest feels heavy and it's not so effortless to breathe anymore. I've made a fool of myself a number of times, and if I thought Chris hadn't seen my insecurities for all these years, I was only lying to myself. He's a smart man, one who has plenty of experience with women, and he probably foresaw every move I would make before I even went through with it. He knows I like him, and he's never made any type of effort to demonstrate that he feels the same, because he _doesn't_. It's a harsh conclusion to come to, but I'll be stronger for it in the end.

I release his hand and rise from the couch, "I think coming here was a mistake."

He stands up after me and whirls me around, "How could you think I don't notice you? You're one of the closest friends I have, and we talk every day. How the hell could I ever miss you?"

"I don't know, but you do it _so_ well," I roll my eyes and try, once more, to walk away, but he stops me with the same swiftness he used earlier. My end goal isn't to make him feel bad, even if it seems that way. All I want is for Chris to understand why I'm hurt, even if he doesn't reciprocate the feelings I have for him. I'll spend the rest of my life treasuring him, regardless of the fact that he notices me less than the bland, decade-old welcome mat on his front porch.

"I don't know what else I can do to put you at ease, Steph. We've been friends for years, and if you're still not comfortable with me, then I don't know what to say," Chris tells me, and it's the same old song and dance recycled all over again. I never get what I need out of him, but then it occurs to me that I can't expect his behavior to change in a way that will make me happy if I don't actually take the time to tell him exactly what I need.

"If I tell you something, promise it won't ruin our friendship or make it weird."

"I promise. Look," he holds his hand up and sticks his finger out, "I'll even pinky swear you."

"Oh, joy," I roll my eyes jokingly and connect my pinky with his before dropping it back down at my side and staring at the carpet. My confession will come easier if I look anywhere except in Chris's eyes while I say it. "I feel like for the past few years our relationship has been a little strained. You've been dating people, and I probably should be out doing the same thing so I can eventually find Mr. Right, but the thing is, I think I already found him and he's taken by somebody who I don't feel deserves him."

"Is it...are you talking about me?" he asks, as if he suspected it all along.

"Yeah, I'm talking about you."

"That's really sweet of you to say," he replies, and I know it's only going to go downhill from here.

I should have guessed he wouldn't be receptive to my divulgence, because guys aren't generally shy about letting a girl know when they like her. If Chris had wanted me, he would have pursued me years ago, and now I'm about to be turned down and probably lose my friendship with him all in the same day. My confession was a gamble I made the risk of taking, and when he gets done with me, our interactions won't ever be the same. It doesn't matter that we already pinky promised no changes, because friendships aren't typically left unscathed when an admission of deeper feelings comes about.

"But..." I wave him on, knowing he wants to say more but is holding back.

"But Heidi and I are starting to get serious. Thanks for telling me you feel that way though, it's really flattering," Chris says.

My stomach drops instantly as a bubbling cauldron of heat forms beneath each of my cheeks and sets them on fire. My eyes water and vision becomes blurred as I slam at 100 miles per hour into the giant wall of rejection. I confessed my deepest feelings for the man in front of me and all he has to say is that it's flattering? I don't want to hold his reaction against him, because it's not his fault if he isn't attracted to me, but I don't think I'm going to be able to face Chris again until some day projected _way_ into the future. I can't risk having to stomach the sight of him with Heidi hugged up to his side, in the very spot where_ I_ should be.

"I have to go, sorry," I squeak out and, to be honest, I'm shocked I was able to manage that many words. I'm heartbroken, the perfect picture of what my life was supposed to be shattered right before my horrified eyes. Chris is the only man I've ever had such a weakness for, and it amazes me I'm able to attract every type of guy in the universe except the one I actually want. I can't imagine ever loving any man the way I love him, but he doesn't know that. It's bad enough he knows I want to be with him, but if he knew the extent of my feelings, I would fling myself off of a cliff in a humiliation dive and be done with it. "I'll talk to you later," I utter before tugging his front door open and rushing out.

"Steph, wait, your purse!" he calls out from inside the house, and I pause in the walkway, quietly cursing to myself when I realize my car keys are tucked away inside it. Not only do I have to take the long rejection walk, but to top it all off, I can't even make a swift getaway. I close my eyes and cross my arms, trying desperately to calm my breathing, and I reopen them when I hear him coming up behind me with my bag. He hands it to me and I tug it away from his grasp.

"Thanks."

"Can I have a hug goodbye?" he asks, and I snap into alertness at his request, because it's so completely out of character. We're pretty casual with each other and definitely have our touchy moments, but we don't typically ask permission before acting on impulses. If he wants to hug me, he's more than welcome, and he should know that by now. The only reasonable conclusion I can come to is that he's self-conscious about what just transpired and doesn't know how to act around me anymore.

"This is exactly why I didn't want to do this."

"Do what?"

"Tell you how I feel," I admit as I swing my purse idly at my side. "I knew as soon as you realized I wanted to be with you, there was going to be this whole awkward thing between us, and here it is. If you don't like me, it's fine, I get it. I sat in a salon all day getting my hair changed for you, but if you want to ignore that, there's nothing else I can do."

"Whoa, wait a minute, time out," Chris stops me, holding his hands up in front of himself. "What the hell do you mean you got your hair changed for _me_? I never asked you to go blond."

"Yeah, but that's obviously what you like."

"So?"

"So I was trying to be what you need."

"By dyeing your hair?" he cries out incredulously. For some reason, when I talk about it aloud, it sounds so much worse than when I go over it in my head. Now that I've taken a step back, I can see how misguided I was to do something so drastic just to get a guy to like me, and the look of astonishment on Chris's face says it all. I wanted to impress him, not make him think I'm some pathetic clinger who's willing to toss away all of her free-thinking skills just to please a man. "Wow, Steph, I thought you were a much different person than you're actually turning out to be. I might tend to be attracted to blondes, but I don't date women based on their hair color alone. You want to know why I like Heidi?"

"No, not really."

"Well I'm going to tell you anyway, so listen closely—Heidi is a confident woman. She's sure of herself and secure enough in her own life that she doesn't need me to constantly fall all over her and tell her how beautiful or great she is. I'm dating her because she knows her place in the world and the role she was meant to play while she's here and doesn't run out and do ridiculous things in hopes that it will please me," Chris drones on, and I start making exaggerated gagging noises that visibly piss him off.

_Oops._

"Sorry," I mutter after seeing the look on his face, but the damage has been done.

"You know what?" he asks and I shrug. "I happened to love your brown hair and I've always thought you were a classic beauty, but I don't want anything to do with someone who doesn't even love themselves. I'm sorry if I'm hurting you right now, because it took a lot of guts for you to admit to me how you were feeling, but learn to have a little bit of pride. You don't roll over and change your hair color just because you want some guy to like it."

"It's not just any guy, it's _you_!" I shout, and now my chin is trembling as I hold back a flurry of tears. Chris notices and steps forward right away, wrapping me up in his arms, where I've wanted to be for what feels like an eternity.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling good. I wish today could have been everything you hoped it would be," Chris whispers in my ear as my tear falls and lands on his shirt.

"Why don't you want me?" I ask pathetically.

Now, I realize I'm doing the exact opposite of everything he just told me he adores in a woman, but not having him to myself turns me into a blubbering mess. I crave everything from Chris: his time, attention, and love. It's difficult for me to understand the constant barrier that blocks us from taking that extra step with one another. He answers me, and though I'm not sure it's the key to my actual question, it fills me with hope, nonetheless.

"Focus on you, Steph. Make yourself the center of your own universe, and you'll be surprised at how things start working out."


	3. Divine Intervention

I can't tell whether today, April Fools' Day, is the pitiful subject worth mocking or if _I'm_ the real April Fool.

Either way, I feel like an absolute jackass. I should make it a point to focus on the positive more often because, with my cringe-inducing dye job two months behind me, I at least have my natural brown tresses back, so that's something...I guess. I lean back against a towering oak tree and bring my passion fruit flavored tea to my lips, sipping the chilled beverage through a straw while simultaneously flicking flyaway hairs out of the pathway of my observant eyes. While it's not typical of me to spend time people-watching at parks and such, I showed up anyway, because the person who beckoned me in the first place lit a fire underneath my tail.

When Chris calls, I answer. That's the method that has withstood the test of time for the larger part of our friendship, and I imagine it'll always work out that way. My parents or other friends can call me and are lucky if they receive a call back the next day, but when Chris calls, you wouldn't believe how fast I book it to the nearest phone to respond. The thud of a car door shutting fires off in the distance, and instinct tells me it's the man I've been waiting for, who I haven't seen in several weeks. That must be some sort of record for time we've spent apart.

I was the person left with the proverbial egg on my face after confessing what I suspect Chris has always known to be true. The guy knows I love him, and I recoil at the thought of showing so much of myself and not having it returned, but part of me wonders if he gets enjoyment out of dangling me along simply because he knows he can. My love isn't given easily, but when a person earns it, they've got me clawing for every last sign of reciprocation, fighting every step of the way until I get it. It's a character flaw, and I can't help it. Maybe I don't want to help it. Still, I took the last piece of advice Chris bestowed upon me to heart, because he was absolutely correct.

There's joy and emotional healing to be found in pinpointing your real spirit in its truest form, and I've learned a lot about who I am, just as he told me I should. Back home, I enrolled in school at a local college and took elective classes that interest me, I joined a yoga group near my home that meets every Wednesday and Friday, and I even dated around. Chris isn't the only one who can play the field, and I'm keeping my options open in every way possible. As the soaring breeze flutters through the tree leaves above, creating a loud rustling noise in its wake, I feel Chris's eyes on me long before I see his face or detect his voice, and when I spin around, there he is, but he's not alone.

Now, here's the thing about me: I've turned over a new leaf in the past couple of months and it feels great. That said, I didn't lose who I was at my very core, and I don't know that I ever will, so when I'm set off, the explosive side of me can and _will_ erupt like an active volcano. Chris has his arm curled around Heidi's shoulders, and she's got a great big smile plastered on her face that I'd love to hop up and slap right into outer space. If he wants to be with her, that's on him, but to flaunt her directly in my face to prove some sort of sick point, or whatever it is he's trying to accomplish, makes me nauseated to the point of feeling the urge to sprint to the nearest trash can.

There are a few yards separating us, and by the time he reaches me with my dreaded nemesis in tow, I'm ready. "This wasn't a part of the deal," I say. "You told me _you_ wanted to see me, Chris. I never agreed to having a conversation with Tag-along Barbie."

Lo and behold, Tag-along covers her mouth to muffle a surge of laughter, and the thought of her having the nerve to laugh in my face is enough to get my blood boiling, but I called her a name, so I suppose all is fair game. It isn't until Chris cracks a smile that I consider she might just be a good sport, self-confident enough to see the humor in any insults that might be tossed her way, especially when they were as petty as the one I shot off. Her mouth still rests in a smile when she extends her hand to me and says, "Hi, again. I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Heidi. We met at the bar on Superbowl Sunday."

I want to be a bitch. Oh boy, do I want to rip this girl to verbal shreds, but the combination of knowing she's never attacked me on a personal level and seeing the endearing smile on her face makes me rethink my sweeping supply of venom and retract my fangs, though they'll be on standby if I need their assistance anytime soon. I put on my best game face, not wanting to give a single emotion I'm feeling away, and join my hand to hers. "Hi," I mumble.

That's the best she's getting.

"Why don't we go have a seat over there?" Chris points to a bench across the grassy area. If there's ever a time I'm going to bow out gracefully, it'll be while I'm still on my feet and have a chance at making a decently quick getaway. Once I'm seated, I'm at their mercy, so the bench isn't an option. Not for me, anyway.

"Actually..." I begin, already formulating an excuse to pull me out of this mess, and Chris sees my wheels turning long before I can bring them up to full speed and glide away, anywhere but here. Damn him for knowing me so well. "I have this thing to go to."

"Oh yeah?" he asks, playing along. He sends Heidi a sidelong glance, and she smiles her flawless, pearly white smile. Their eyes dance in tandem, as if the entire day is a big joke that only they are in on. To be fair, the day_ is _meant for cracking jokes, but I won't allow them to come at my expense. "You told me you had the entire day free. Remember how you planned the trip down here and I asked ahead of time if you would be available?"

"Yeah, well, I'm a busy woman, and sometimes plans change," I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets and averting my eyes. A tuft of my hair sweeps into the path of my eyesight, and I blow it away without thought.

"Your hair is brown again," he notices. A part of me rejoices in his acknowledgment of my return to the natural look I was blessed with. To hell if he doesn't like it, but, nevertheless, I'm relieved he does. Even so, I can find a man who will love my brown hair, and, not only that, but he'll appreciate every last bit of me. 'Take me or leave me' is my new favorite motto in life.

"Yep," I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips, nodding along.

"It looks good," he says, but I'm not about to stand around and accept compliments from a man who will never be mine. If he wants to hang out, that's fine, but bringing his girlfriend along for the ride is too soon. If she's going to be a mainstay in his life, then I want them together, because he deserves that much, but it doesn't have to be shoved down my throat. At least, not net. Not when I'm still so fragile, and my heart so breakable.

"So glad you approve," I smile, with just the right amount of snark, and toss my luscious locks behind my shoulder, losing the humor in my eyes as I storm across the grass.

I'm not being a good friend to Chris, and I know it. I'm not supportive, or caring, or all the things I'm sure he needs, but seeing him with another woman is akin to shoving a sliver of glass right through the center of my beating heart. I love him more than words can say, and he doesn't want me. There exists no expression descriptive enough to come close to making it clear how deeply that fact cuts away at me. I hear the rustling of the grass as he follows after me and, for a moment, I am at peace. He still cares enough to give chase.

"Steph, wait up," he demands, latching onto my wrist and whirling me around. "You're being unreasonable."

My chest heaves up and down as I struggle to catch my breath, having not realized I was even holding it to begin with. I bite my bottom lip and endure my internal battle to decide what's right. If the situation were reversed, I would want Chris to be supportive and give me his blessing, regardless of his true feelings regarding my boyfriend, and it's only fair I do the same for him. There's no better way to prove the friendship I've extended to him is true than to bite the bullet and admit that I'm wrong, so I take a deep breath and let it roll.

"I know I am, so I'm sorry for that," I say, and Chris is surprised. I can tell by the way his eyebrows hitch, but he doesn't say anything more. Heidi is waiting only a few feet away, so my apology has to be mindful of her while not divulging information her prying ears aren't meant to hear. She's a stranger to me and doesn't need to know any of my business with Chris. "Look, you're my best friend on the entire planet, and I don't want to be immature and treat you badly. You have a girlfriend, which is your God-given right, and I need to be a mature adult and accept that. If you're happy with..." I pause, struggling to push her name up my throat, onto my tongue, and out of my mouth, but, miraculously, I manage. "If Heidi makes you happy, that's all that matters. I want you to be happy, Chris, I really do. If there were ever a person who deserves a great life, it's you."

"Wow," is the first word to slip from Chris's mouth, and he's almost in awe. He glances at Heidi, who begins backing away, leaving him with an almost imperceptible nod, but I catch it, because I'm a woman trained to notice the little things. She's edging backwards across the grass, and before I know what hits me, Chris is reaching for my hands and leading me back to the spot in the grass I sat at no more than two minutes before. I start to protest, but he shakes his head. "Don't give me your 'tude today, Steph. I need to talk to you, so sit."

Battling a wave of reluctance, I pull my hands from his so I can use them to guide me gently to the ground, and he takes a seat beside me while Heidi turns her back to us and gazes out at the lake. Hell if I know what's going on with the two of them, but if they're having relationship drama and Chris expects me to help, he's going to have another thing coming. I can be his friend while still distancing myself from his romantic relationships, which is a policy that will work best for everyone involved. I don't do well in the face of competition, and certainly not when it's coming in the form of another woman edging me out for the only man I've ever felt so strongly for.

I pick absently at a few blades of grass, but Chris covers my hand with his and brings my fidgeting to an end. I wait for him to speak, but he doesn't, until I make the effort to raise my head and look into his eyes. He begins, "These past couple months, when we went without each other, it was hell for me. I don't like being away from you."

My teeth gnaw aggressively at my bottom lip as I size Heidi up from behind, hoping she's far enough away that she won't overhear what I say. "It was pretty hard, but I thought the time apart was good...for _both_ of us."

"I suppose it was," Chris nods. "I called you here today for a reason, and it might be a little weird how this has come about...actually, scratch that. It's pretty damn bizarre for me to bring her along, but Heidi and I talked about this, and we're on the same page with each other, so it shouldn't be a real problem. Can you trust me on this?"

"I can," I agree. I'm not sure I like where this meeting is going, but most of the fight has drained out of me.

"Good. I'll start with the simple and get into the more intricate stuff in a minute," Chris says. "First of all, Heidi and I broke up a couple weeks back."

I frown right away, squinting into the distance as I call up the mental picture of Chris arriving with the woman in question a short while ago. They looked pretty darn chummy to me. "You guys were laughing and smiling just now, but you're broken up? Is this going to be about you asking me to help get you guys back together? If it is, you know I can't do that, and you know exactly why not."

"That's not what this is about at all."

"Then what?" I demand, crossing my arms in front of me, as a protective shield. Man, am I a demanding bitch when I want to be.

"She's the one who broke up with me. I had a long talk with her about why she thought her and I wouldn't work."

"I don't see what this has to do with me. Whatever happened in the relationship is your business with her."

"Actually," Chris smiles, "our business has everything to do with you," he dots the tip of my nose with his index finger, a little too cheerily for comfort. This whole deal is starting to make me wary, and even in the safety of the friend I've known for years, I'm feeling completely out of place. I don't belong here at the park on such a beautiful day with Chris and his girlfriend...er, _ex_-girlfriend, and I'm not certain why they don't see that, but I do. I start to rise, and Chris brings a hand down swiftly on my arm, stopping me before I gain any leverage. "You're not getting away from me, so you may as well stop trying."

"You know I adore you, but can you cut to the chase?" I ask, trying a more gentle approach, despite the fact that it's the exact opposite of all my basic instincts. Even so, a nurturing attitude might make it easier for Chris to get out what he needs to say so I can seek cover wherever I can find it until my flight departs from Florida altogether.

"Heidi broke up with me because of you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you what I mean if you'll relax," he says, pointing out my posture, which remains frigid and at attention. I release into a more natural position and extend my left arm behind me, leaning on the palm of my hand as I pull my sunglasses off and lay them on top of my purse. "When you were gone, after that morning you told me how you felt, I thought a lot about us over the years. We've been through a lot together."

"Right, we have."

"And I wouldn't trade or change any of it for the world."

"I wouldn't either," I agree.

"Heidi meant a lot to me, I won't deny that, and she made me happy for a long time, but I..." he paused, gauging her distance and lowering his voice, "I can live without her. A couple weeks after you were last at my house, she went on a bigger, longer fishing trip with her folks, so I was alone in my house and had time to think. She would call, and I'd call her, too. We checked in on each other, and it was all well and good, but the longer she was away, the farther apart our phone calls became. We sort of started losing our connection."

"Why's that?" I ask, and this time, I'm not only making conversation. I really want to know.

"I couldn't figure it out at first," Chris says, his eyes drifting from my face as he falls into a reflective state of mind. "I thought we were good together, so I couldn't see why we wouldn't be as close just because she went on a trip. On the flip side of that, did you keep track of what happened with _us_ while _we_ were apart?"

"You and me?" I question, signaling between us. Chris nods, and I answer. "It seemed like the longer we were apart, the more we missed each other. I called you every single day, and you usually called me back later, so we almost always ended up talking a bunch of times every day."

"Right," he nods knowingly. "We got closer the longer we were apart."

"Oh, well, I guess we did, huh?" I realize. He's painting a picture that is finally starting to form in my mind. I'm beginning to grasp the point he's working so hard to make, and a warm fuzziness trickles through my body, forming in the pit of my stomach and expanding to every inch of my body, ending with my fingers and toes.

"Heidi and I grew apart with distance, but you and I grew closer together. I might not have noticed it at first, but Heidi came back home and pointed it all out to me. She brought up some of the phone conversations I had with her. I thought they were normal, but she noticed something I would do during every phone call — someone I mentioned every single time without fail."

I hate to be presumptuous, but I do it anyway, because it suits me. Even if I'm wrong and make a fool of myself, Heidi's too far away to hear. "Was it me?"

"It was you. I talked about you every time, and Heidi caught it. She knows."

"She knows what?" I ask.

I can't confirm whether I've passed away and crash-landed in heaven, but wherever I am is exactly where I want to be, because Chris scoots forward and cups my cheek with a gentleness I've never seen the likes of. My eyes widen in anticipation, knowing what's coming without _really_ knowing, but I've got a gut feeling. When his gaze falls onto my lips and he bites his own lip with insatiable hunger, I know I'm about to get what I want, and it excites me enough that I actually squeal. I don't typically do that kind of girly thing, but Chris pushes me into a lot of firsts, most of which I have not a single complaint about.

"I think she might have known even before I realized it myself, actually," he mutters, and I'm so done with waiting for an answer that I'm halfway tempted to choke it out of him.

"Will you please just spit it out?"

"I love you."

"Yeah, I know. We've been friends for a long time. You know I love you, too," I tell him. That particular phrase isn't one we've ever shied away from expressing to each other in the past, so I'm uncertain why it has made the breaking news reel in our lives today, but Chris always has his reasons.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," he stops me, leaning in closer. "I love you, Stephanie. Not just love, but _love_ love. Do you get me now?"

I bat his hands away from my cheeks, but my mousy swats are no match for Chris, and he avoids them easily until I stop. I might be the only woman in the world who ends up irked after hearing such a sweet admission from the man she's pined for all along. "Why do you insist on doing this to me?"

"Doing what?"

"You know how I feel about you, yet, you keep playing these mind games. What's with you, Chris?" I screech, my volume making him cringe. "You play with my heart and tell me you don't want me, then you finally come to me and say you do, but you bring _her_?" I ask, pointing Heidi out and not caring if she registers my annoyance. Heidi's feelings are the least of my concerns at this point. "I don't want to play these games with you anymore, so just stop it!"

What happens next is a mystery, one I still haven't entirely solved to this day. I jerk away, prying his hands from my cheeks, but before I can stand, Chris catches my shoulders and pulls me back down. His lips are on mine before I can fully register what's happening, and I'm purring and crawling into his lap right away. I cozy into his embrace like a kitten, and he holds me just the same, smiling against my mouth. I love it when he smiles, and even more when he does it while kissing me. But then, I come crashing back to reality when I remember his ex-girlfriend is nearby, and I tilt my face aside, effectively pulling out of the kiss.

Heidi still has her back to us, pretending she has no clue what we're doing, but I suspect she's got some inkling. Women don't know how not to eavesdrop, so it's almost a given. I can't deny the weirdness of having her so close, but I also don't want the milestone I've just hit with Chris to go to a complete waste, so I lean in for one more peck before I climb out of his lap and stand. After dusting my pants off, Chris latches onto my outstretched hands and rises to a standing position.

He clears his throat loudly and Heidi turns around, her demeanor more subdued now that she knows the deed has been done. She's not shocked, but she looks sad in a vague, contemplative sort of way. I can't say I blame her, because if there's anything I know, it's that Chris isn't the easiest guy to get over, and that's coming from a woman who's never even had him to begin with — until now, that is. She dabs her hands on her pants and swings her arms lightly as she strolls towards us, stopping in front of me. She's not expectant, but I feel like I should say something to keep her from hating my guts. Maybe I can have a little bit of a heart for once.

"I'm really sorry about how things turned out for you, Heidi," I tell her. She sends me a closed-mouth smile, and I find it interesting how, now that this woman isn't my direct competition, I no longer see the faults I previously pointed out in her. Not until this instant did I finally understand the scope of envy and the evil to be found within it. It consumed me up to this point. "I wasn't very nice to you, and I should have been. You were kind whenever we talked and tried to make conversation, but I...it's just that I..." I struggle to find the right words, but, lo and behold, Heidi supplies them.

"It's just that you're in love, and love makes you do and say crazy things," she fills in. Before I can tell her she's right, she speaks again, "I really should be going. I actually only came today as a buffer, in case you weren't so receptive to Chris. He told me not to, but I wanted to be here. I needed to be sure he got his happy ending."

"I don't know what to say," I rush out, tears forming in my eyes. Heidi purses her lips and shakes her head, her silent way of letting me know there's no need for words. She squeezes my arm with one hand and takes Chris's hand in the other, nodding at each of us before releasing her grip and setting off. She drove to the park, so it becomes clear Chris is leaving with me, which was apparently the plan all along. I wipe at my eyes as I watch her go, slipping out from underneath the arm Chris threw around my shoulders as I call out, "Heidi!" and wait. She spins around, eyes shiny with unshed tears, and I say, "I hope you get your happy ending, too!"

She pauses a moment, even seems touched by the gravity of my words, and possibly uncertain what to say in response. After mulling it over, Heidi offers only a single word before continuing back to her car. "Someday."

I clutch the hem of my shirt as I watch her go, my eyes leaving her silhouette when Chris comes up beside me and encircles my waist from behind with his arms. He kisses my cheek, and I ask, "Why did it take all of this for me to finally see the good in her?"

Chris pauses, craning his neck from left to right, and says, "Probably the same reason it took me so long to see my true feelings for you."

"I guess all that's meant to be eventually is," I shrug.

"And thank the heavens above for that. You ready to go home and figure this boyfriend/girlfriend thing out?"

It doesn't take me long to figure a response, and when it comes, we seal it with a kiss. "I've been ready all along."

Perhaps good things truly do come to those who wait.


End file.
